Full Moon Rising

by Arthur, Keri

  Typical vampire. I’m sure the half that weren’t salesmen were damn lawyers sometime in their lives. “Does that mean you’ve seen him recently?”

  “Yes. Before those men caught and staked me out. That is how I knew this address.”

  Then maybe this vamp could help me find Rhoan if Jack and the Directorate wouldn’t. “When was this?”

  He frowned. “I’m not sure.”

  Damn. “So where did you see him?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Then why did those men feel inclined to stake you out?”

  “Something else I can’t remember.”

  “There seems to be an awful lot you can’t remember,” I muttered, stuck between belief and disbelief.

  “A regrettable side effect of being kicked several times in the head.”

  My gaze traveled to his forehead. There did seem to be shadowing under the mud, which might have meant bruising. “Have you got a name?”

  “I have.”

  A smile twitched my lips. “Can you share it, or is it lost to the fog as well?”

  “Quinn O’Conor.”

  “I’m Riley Jenson.”

  He leaned forward and held out his hand. I clasped it automatically, which was a stupid thing to do, really. He could have so easily hauled me out of the doorway had he intended me harm.

  But the only thing he did was wrap his long, strong fingers around mine and squeeze lightly. And with the heat of his palm burning into mine, it was all too easy to imagine the gentle strength of those fingers sliding across my body, stirring the desire already building deep inside. I swallowed heavily.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Riley Jenson,” he added, his voice so soft it seemed to echo inside my head rather than through my ears.

  I pulled my hand from his, but clenched my fingers to retain the warmth of his touch. That one reaction made me realize I had better be careful. Until I knew more about him, about what he was really up to, I’d better keep some distance. No matter how much my hormones were suggesting otherwise.

  Yet curiosity was still stronger than caution.

  “And can you remember what you do for a living?”

  He nodded. “I own Evensong Air.”

  I almost choked. Evensong was the biggest of the three transpacific airlines, and had recently taken over the shuttle service to the space stations. Which made the naked vampire sitting opposite me a multibillionaire.

  His face closed over. “Does that alter your opinion of me?”

  “Like I’ve had time to form an opinion?” I grinned, and added, “But if it did, it would only be because I’ve never fucked a mega, megarich guy before.” Though I had certainly fucked your ordinary, everyday, garden-variety millionaire. Still was, in fact.

  His laugh sent warm shivers down my spine. “One thing I love about werewolves—they’re always forthright when it comes to sex.”

  “Had a werewolf or two in your time, have you?” Which wouldn’t be entirely surprising. He was rich, he was gorgeous, and he was a vampire. They were one of the few races that could actually keep up with a werewolf in moon heat.

  “One or two.”

  He didn’t look as if he wanted to elaborate, and I wondered why. I watched him sip his meal for a second, then said, “I thought Evensong was owned by a Frank Harris?”

  “He’s the director and current face.” Quinn shrugged. “Being a vampire has its restrictions. I will always need someone to run the business during the day.”

  I was betting Frank Harris was kept on a very tight leash, all the same. “So what is a successful businessman doing getting staked out by humans? I would have thought you’d be surrounded by the latest in security gadgets.”

  He frowned. “I wish I knew. It’s most annoying, waking to find oneself staked out and having no idea why.”

  “I’m guessing it’s even more annoying to discover you’d been overwhelmed by mere humans.”

  “Most definitely.”

  Amusement flirted with his mouth again, and my heart did the old flip-flop. Time to retreat, before I did something daft—like take this vampire’s bait.

  “Listen, I have to get ready for work. Would you like a coat or something? The weathermen reckon it’s going to rain later.”

  A sensual smile flirted with his lips. “I appreciate the offer, but vampires do not feel the cold.”

  “Maybe not, but you’re making me cold just looking at you.” Which was actually the opposite of what was happening, but he didn’t need to know that.

  He shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, then I shall accept the coat.”

  I rose and grabbed one of Rhoan’s coats from the back of the door. At least Mrs. Russel’s heart wouldn’t go into overload if she did happen to see him. And as much as I liked pushing the old cow, I doubted whether we’d get another apartment this large or this cheap so close to the city.

  After closing the door, I dug through the baskets of clean clothes until I found a suitable skirt and shirt to wear. Once I’d ironed them, I got ready for work. Quinn was still sitting in the hall when I left to walk down to the station.

  The train was packed, and, as usual, I spent the entire journey with my nose pinned against the glass, trying to get some fresh air from the cracks between the panels to combat the almost overwhelming scents of humanity, sweat, and perfume.

  I squeezed out at Spencer Street Station and walked the block to the green glass building that housed the Directorate. After going through the security scanners, then submitting my hand for print scanning, I took the lift down to the basement levels, stopping at sublevel three. If the ten levels above ground were the public face of the Directorate—the areas that worked mainly by day, receiving the initial reports of crimes by nonhumans, processing the minor offenses, and doing other basic stuff like documenting reports of new vampire risings—then the five below were the heart. They were the area the public knew little about. There we tracked down, and took care of, the nastier stuff—the nonhumans who raped and killed and sucked dry. And we worked twenty-four hours a day, even if the majority of the guardians only hunted at night.

  There were only one hundred of us down there, and seventy of those were guardians. The other thirty were officially known as guardian liaisons. We worked mostly on rotating eight-hour shifts, and our duties were basic but far from simple—nothing could ever be considered simple when dealing with vampires. We checked and processed information about the more serious crimes, gave the guardians their assignments once the sun had set, made their reports legible once the night was over, and kept the guardians who were in residence during the daylight hours supplied with food and drink.

  Of course, most humans still thought vampires were forced to sleep during the sunlit hours, but that was a fallacy—and one most vampires were more than happy to perpetuate. Sure, most vamps couldn’t go out into direct sunlight for fear of being fried, but that didn’t mean they were comatose, either. Vamps didn’t need to sleep any more than they needed to breathe. If vampires did sleep, then it was done either as a leftover habit from their human years, or out of boredom.

  I was one of only three females doing the job, and the other two were vamps. Guardians weren’t the easiest of folk to deal with, and only those capable of protecting themselves were assigned duty there.

  Jack looked up from his computer screen as I walked into the room and gave me another of his toothy grins. “Morning, darlin’.”

  “Morning, Jack.” I stripped off my jacket, plopped down on my seat, and looked into the security scanner. My iris was checked, identity confirmed, and the screen snapped into action. “You been here all night again?”

  “What else would an ugly sod like me do?”

  I grinned. “I don’t know—get a life, maybe?”

  “I have a life. It’s called the Directorate.”

  “That’s sad. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I prefer to call it committed.”

  “As in, should be committed.”r />
  He smiled. “Got your report. Nice job.”

  “Thanks. Any word from Rhoan yet?”

  “Not yet.” He glanced at his watch. “But it isn’t nine, and your flatmate is never on time anyway.”

  I knew that well enough, and normally it didn’t worry me. “Are you going to start a search if he doesn’t report in?”

  “Not immediately, no.”

  “Dammit, there’s something wrong.”

  “We only have your gut instinct telling us that. And even then, you say it isn’t serious. Forgive me, Riley, but if it isn’t serious, it isn’t enough to blow his mission.”

  Frustration surged through me. I blew out a breath, lifting the hair from my forehead. “Then I’ll just have to do a little looking of my own.”

  Jack studied me for a minute, amusement touching the corners of his green eyes. “If you find something, you will let me know.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That an order?”

  “Yes.”

  “And will you share if you find anything?”

  “Riley, Rhoan’s a guardian, and the mission he’s on is top secret. I can’t share information.” He paused. “Unless, of course, I was sharing it with someone who was willing to take a second guardian test.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “Yes.”

  I shook my head. “And here I was thinking you were a nice vampire.”

  “There is no such thing as a nice vampire,” he said. “Just different shades of the same color. You’d be wise to remember that, especially here.”

  Wasn’t that the truth. “I’m not going to take another test.” I wasn’t that concerned for Rhoan’s safety. Not yet.

  I tackled the pile of files in my inbox instead. The morning crawled by, and the sensation that Rhoan was in trouble neither waxed nor waned. Which was odd. If he was in trouble, and unable to get out of it, surely the danger should build? What the hell did it mean when it remained at the same level?

  At lunch, I grabbed a sandwich and cola from the machine in the foyer, then headed back to do some info searching on the mysterious, but oh-so-delicious, Quinn.

  There were lots and lots of yummy pictures—whoever started the myth that vampires couldn’t be photographed was either a loony or had never actually tried it. And there were lots of articles, which swung between calling him a monster and hailing him as a savior of small companies. One article was all about a dead vamp found on one of Quinn’s transport planes. Another mentioned expansions in his Sydney pharmaceutical company. And there was a small clipping about his engagement to one Eryn Jones—and a snapshot of the two of them together. She was a slender, brown-haired woman, and as pretty as hell. But then, I don’t suppose someone like Quinn would end up with anyone dowdy. I glanced at the date on the top of the article—January 9. Six months ago.

  He had to love her a lot, because vampires didn’t often commit themselves to one person. Kelly had once told me it was simply too hard to watch someone you love wither and die while you stayed eternally young. A vampire’s only other choice was to turn their lovers into vamps, yet few relationships survived the turmoil of turning. Vampires tended to be territorial and two vamps couldn’t often live in harmony.

  A few articles later, I found an interesting one about Eryn herself—or rather, her mysterious disappearance. Quinn had apparently been questioned by police, but released, and the inquiries were “ongoing.” Meaning the cops didn’t have a goddamn clue.

  Was this the reason behind the attack on Quinn? Did someone, somewhere, suspect that he was behind her disappearance? If so, why was he waiting at my place to see Rhoan? Was it something to do with the missing Eryn or something else entirely?

  How did he even know Rhoan if he normally lived in Sydney?

  Frowning, I did a search on his fiancée, but didn’t come up with much more than the fact she worked for a well-known pharmaceutical company—one Quinn had apparently bought, then dismantled, several months after her disappearance.

  Interesting, to say the least. Though God only knew how it connected to Rhoan’s current troubles.

  Jack came back in from his lunch break, and I got back to work. The afternoon crawled by, and though I kept glancing at the clock, no word came from Rhoan. Jack pretended to be totally oblivious to anything but whatever it was he was doing on his computer, yet I knew he was watching me. Knew he was waiting for me to say something. To ask about Rhoan and the possibility of a search and, of course, that pesky retesting.

  Which I wasn’t going to do until I’d exhausted my own avenues—and I intended to check them out as soon as I went home and changed. Unless, of course, the feeling of trouble sharpened dramatically.

  At six, I signed off and got the hell out of there. Given it was Saturday, and late evening to boot, most of the usual pedestrian traffic had already gone home. There was even breathing room on the train.

  Night was setting in by the time the train pulled into my station. I climbed out and walked up the platform to the exit. But the sensation that I was no longer alone crawled over my skin. I looked over my shoulder.

  As usual, half the lights were out. Shadows lurked along the fence line and crept skeletal fingers across the platform itself. No one had gotten off the train but me, and no one or nothing hid in the shadows. Not that I could sense or see, anyway. I glanced across to the platform on the other side of the tracks. No one there, either.

  So why did my skin prickle with awareness? An awareness I knew meant there was a vamp nearby, hiding in the shadows somewhere.

  Why couldn’t I pinpoint his location?

  And why did the night feel suddenly hostile?

  Frowning, I slung my bag over my shoulder and continued on up the platform. But as I neared the steps that led up to Sunshine Avenue, the sharp scent of musk, mint, and man teased my nostrils.

  Not the vampire, but a wolf. The male of our species tended to have a slightly sharper basic aroma than males of other species. Or maybe it just seemed that way because we females were naturally more attuned to them.

  I stopped abruptly. He stood to the left of the steps, hiding between the station’s wall and the ramp for disabled folk. He was absolutely still, something that is extremely rare for us wolves. Unless asleep, we tend to fidget if we stay in one spot for too long. The energy of the beast, barely contained, was Rhoan’s theory.

  “I know you’re there,” I said softly. “What the hell do you want?”

  The shadows parted, and the wolf stepped out into the light. He was rangy, mean-looking, and so much like Henri Gautier it could have been his brother. Only, as far as I knew, Gautier didn’t have a brother.

  “Riley Jenson?” His voice was guttural, thick, and so cold a shiver traveled down my spine.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Got a message for you.”

  My heart leapt. While I didn’t think scum like him would be a friend of my brother’s, I wouldn’t put it past Rhoan to use his like for a messenger.

  “What?”

  “Die, freak.”

  His hand blurred, and I saw the gun.

  I moved, as fast as I could.

  Heard the booming report.

  Then there was pain.

  Nothing but pain.

  Chapter 3

  Riley?”

  The voice was warm and familiar, but far away. Far, far, away.

  “Riley, tell me what’s wrong.”

  Despite the pain engulfing me, the soft question sent heat shimmering through every nerve cell. It had to be Quinn. No one else I knew caused that sort of reaction. But why the hell was he there, rather than haunting the halls of my apartment building?

  And what did he mean by what was wrong? I’d been shot, for Christ’s sake. That much had to be obvious, even to the simplest of minds.

  God, it hurt. Burned.

  “Is the bullet silver?”

  Silver. The bullet was silver. That’s why it hurt so much.

  “Take . . . out.” Hurry.


  He swore. Amen to that, I thought weakly. My eyes refused to open, my arm was numb, and the numbness was spreading all too quickly through the rest of my body. The wolf had missed my heart, but in many respects, it didn’t matter. If Quinn didn’t get that bullet out of my shoulder soon, I was one dead puppy.

  I floated in a sea of molten agony, drifting in and out of consciousness, my body aflame and dripping with sweat.

  Yet his voice reached me, dragged me back.

  “I haven’t got a knife. I’ll have to use my teeth. It’s going to hurt.”

  No shit, Sherlock. But the words stayed locked inside. The numbness had reached my neck and mouth, and breathing was becoming harder.

  My shirt was torn away, then lips touched my flesh, a brief caress that made my skin tremble. Then his teeth were slashing down, slicing deep. A scream tore up my throat but seemed to lodge somewhere near my tonsils. His mind surged into mine and, like a cool and gentle hand, cocooned me, soothing the ache, easing the fire.

  His teeth withdrew from my flesh, but were replaced by his fingers. There was no escape from the agony of his delving, no matter how much he tried to protect me. When he touched the bullet, moved it, I screamed again.

  Then the bullet was gone, the fire was gone, and in its place normal, peaceful pain.

  I reached to that magical place inside and called to the wolf. Power swept around me, through me, blurring the pain, healing the wound. But once I was back in human form, the world slid away.

  It was dawn by the time it came back.

  Several sensations struck me almost immediately. My head was resting on what felt like flesh-covered steel, but the rest of my body lay on something hard and uncomfortable. There was a steady, aching throb in my shoulder, and a deeper burning down my arm. Even when silver didn’t kill wolves, it could permanently maim. Fear touched my heart and I quickly twitched my fingers. They moved and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

  A cool breeze stirred around me, filled with the scents of humans and exhaust fumes, mixed with the tantalizing nearness of sandalwood, man, and mud. Somewhere to my right came the steady roar of passing traffic and, closer still, the rattle of a train drawing away from a station. Obviously, I wasn’t in my apartment. Though I could usually hear the trains, my apartment didn’t shake with the force of their passing like this place did.